"Given Mr. Drummond has been battling the storm all night, I’d say closer to three."
"Ye came through that horror?" He heard admiration in Ruth’s voice. "You must be one bonny sailor."
"I was lucky," he said. "There were a few moments when I feared my body would feed the fishes."
"Och, and now the fishes are going to feed ye. We’ll get a big platter of local salmon set out for you, never ye fear."
"And, Ruth, have a bedchamber prepared for Mr. Drummond, too, please."
"Dinnae go to any trouble, mistress. I’ll be off as soon as I’ve seen to my boat."
Dougal suffered a pang of regret at the prospect of leaving this comfortable house. After a night of freezing waves and wind, the thought of settling into a few days of warm rooms and good food was treacherously appealing, by God. Not to mention seeing Miss Kirsty Macbain smiling at him as he plowed his way through what promised to be a plate or two of good food.
"The sea will stay rough after the storm," Miss Macbain said. "You’ve been battling the elements all night. I’m sure your friends will wait an extra day while ye recover from your ordeal. A bath and some sleep will set ye up to go on."
A bed… The idea of sinking into a soft, warm bed, after relaxing in a tub of hot water, tempted him more than the hope of salvation.
"My business is urgent, mistress." He cursed how his voice wavered.
"It must be."
He’d expected his quest to try him to his limits. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen it, after all. Miss Macbain was right to say that some lunatic corner of his character had relished the wild night and the looming risk of death he’d just passed through. Courage and stalwart determination would make him worthy of his lady.
Yet here he was only a day into his voyage, and the everyday luxuries of a well-run household weakened his purpose.
"I’ll gladly accept a bath anyway," he said with a self-derisive smile. "I’m hardly fit to be seen at a gentleman’s table."
The glance that the girl bestowed upon him brimmed with approval. "At least ye will stay to breakfast."
"Och, I wouldnae miss it for the world." He paused. "Although I might need to borrow a clean shirt."
His spare clothing had suffered the same watery fate as his provisions, although at least a good laundress should be able to bring his limited wardrobe back to usability. If only he could say the same for the bread and cheese and sausage he’d foraged from his cousin’s stores.
"I think we’ll manage that."
"Only if we’ve got another giant on the premises." Ruth dusted the flour from her hands and started to untie her apron. "I’ll get these lassies to work on a bath. The yellow chamber is ready for guests, Kirsty. If ye take the laddie upstairs, I’ll fix things down here."
"Is Papa awake yet?"
"Lass, ye ken that on a cold winter’s morning, your da willnae stir from his slumber until the coffee is hot and set up on the dining table."
"Then we’ve got time to make ye respectable," the girl said to Dougal.
Her voice held no trace of disdain, but Dougal had enough pride to cringe at the sight he must present in his stained clothes, with salt-crusted skin and bruises from his battle with the waves. He did no credit to the noble name of Drummond.
It was only as he trailed behind Miss Macbain up an elegant oak staircase lined with a series of daunting family portraits that he thought of something that wasn’t respectable at all. "Mistress, it’s no’ done for unmarried daughters of the house to accompany young gentlemen to their sleeping chamber."
She glanced back from two steps above him. He’d been manfully struggling to avoid staring at how the snug breeches strained over the delectable curve of her arse as she mounted each tread. He wished to Hades she’d put on a skirt. "The maids are busy preparing your bath and breakfast."
When he met that bright, guileless stare, he felt even more like a wicked satyr. He couldn’t even pretend that she was trying to attract his interest. To the innocent, all things were innocent. It was already clear that she led a sheltered and blameless life here, however idiosyncratic her costume.
"Perhaps ye could wake your mother, and she could take charge of me."
A flash of sadness darkened those remarkable eyes. "My mother died when I was a wean, Mr. Drummond." She sounded more subdued than he’d ever heard her. "I am the mistress of Tigh na Mara."
House by the Sea. What a lovely and appropriate name. Not that he imagined anything on this small island was far from the sea.
"Even so." A particularly stern matron glared down from the frame looming above him. "It’s no’ done."